3
Donning a sky blue gown, Clarke found herself in a hallway dimly illuminated by sporadic torches hung on the wall. Not a whisper of sound could be heard, and the eerie silence was a tangible sensation she could feel pressuring her. The uncomfortable feeling made her stretch her neck, trying relieve the tension when she caught sight of a door at the end of the hallway. Curious, she slowly made her way towards the door. Reaching out to the handle on the door, she hesitated as she took in the strange glow seeping from the edges. After several moments of gathering her courage, she pressed the handle. Carefully, she pushed the door open, amidst the fog swirling from the open crack. The light glowed brighter, beckoning her as she stepped further past the threshold, not absolutely sure what she had expected to see.
But what met her eyes had her breath caught for a long instant.
Gold. Heaps and mounds of golds. Precious stones and jewelleries spilled at her feet, the shine almost blinding her. And in the middle of it all, Alexandria Woods stood arrogantly, her lips forming that cocky half-smirk Clarke had come to associate with her.
She stood, frozen to the spot as the pirate made her way towards her, her boots barely disturbing the wealth around her. Until she was standing right before Clarke, too close to be obeying any rule of a polite society. Her hand came up to brush gentle against the loose strands of blonde hair that had escaped the low bun at her nape. Then her fingers moved, slowly. Enticingly. Slowly tilting her head up until she was looking into twin pools of forest green eyes. Woods grinned at her stunned reaction, and bent down to pick up something from the floor. When she stood back up, the corners of her eyes crinkled with the force of her merriment, she was holding up the most beautiful necklace Clarke had ever seen: a thin gold chain from which a heart-shaped ruby hung daintily.
“May I?” Woods inquired softly. She was only able to nod, still silenced. The hands she had seen rattling the bars of the prison caging their owner before gently secured it around her throat. Woods took a step back, looking pleased with herself. Her hands touched Clarke again, after her brief admiration, turning her to face a gilt-framed looking glass, in which Clarke’s reflection looked back at her. Her gown was low, her shoulders bared when Woods rested her head gently on her left shoulders. The green eyes met her blue ones again in through the mirror, satisfied.
“A fiery heart for the fiery lady I’ve had the pleasure of knowing,” she whispered lowly in her ears, sending shivers down her spine.
A slap echoed around them, breaking the transient moment they shared. Crimson trickled from the ruby framing her chest.
Another slap. The ruby was shedding blood all over her skin now.
And another slap—
Clarke jerked awake, pressing her hand to her throat. The familiar shape of her mother’s necklace warmed by her bosom greeted her, welcoming her to the waking world. She took comfort in the memories of her mother, when yet another slap, muffled by the walls of her quarters, reached her ears. Frowning, she almost jumped out of her bunk to see what was causing the noise and grabbed her wrap. When she was running around above deck, she usually wore a plain brown dress that left her curves a mystery, her weapons tucked in her belt, and her hair in a single braid down her back. As the only woman aboard a ship full of men, mostly young lads, she dressed keeping in mind that this was not a London ballroom, as sure as it was not the strains of waltz filling her days aboard the ship.
Another slap filled the air. Abandoning her principle to never appear in front of her crew unless she was properly dressed, she tore out of her quarters when the unnatural silence of the ship, aside from the repeated slaps, registered in her mind. As though none of the men was working, as though no one besides her was even aboard.
She burst through the door leading to the quarter deck. Being one level up from the main deck, she had a good view of most of the ship. At the far end, men were gathered in a large cluster, but the height of her platform enabled her to see over their heads, at the woman with her arms raised high, her wrist tied to the foremast. Murphy—the first mate—holding the cat-o’-nine-tails, bringing it back, and flicking it forward.
“NO!” she shouted.
Her words did not stop the momentum of his movements, and the nine strips slapped against Alexandria Woods’ bare back. The woman hardly flinched.
“STOP IT!” she shouted repeatedly with each step she took as she shoved her way through the huddle. Murphy just stood there, breathing heavily, when she finally managed to get to the front of the gathering. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw the blood trailing from the tips of the whip onto the planked flooring. Looking up, she forced herself to swallow back the bile rising into her throat at the injured back of her pirate, taking in her tightly shut eyes, clenched jaws, and her hands balled into white-knuckled fists. After her display of cockiness last night, her silence unnerved her.
“Clarke, it’s best if you do not interfere.”
Her head whipped to the side at the sound of Bellamy’s voice, only then noticing his presence. She frowned at seeing his utter calmness, as if such brutality, such torture was a normal, everyday occurrence for him.
“Why are you doing this?” her voiced trembled in barely held outrage.
“Woods refuses to help us. She will begin each day with a dozen lashes until she is broken—“
“No!”
He took a step towards her, his dark gaze hardened in a way she had never seen before. “Clarke, you are too kind hearted to do what needs to be done,” he glanced towards the trussed up pirate. “So now I will deal with her.”
She stood her ground against his stare, desperately asserting her authority. “I am the captain of this ship. I forbid flogging.”
“Clarke, don’t be rash. It's a common practice to give a disobedient man a taste of the cat. Or do you want a mutiny on your hands when you take that away and have no means to keep them in line?”
"I'd think you'd have a mutiny if you went about flogging them."
“You men are dismissed. Get back to your duties!” he barked the order to the men around them, then returned his attention to her. “You are captain because it is your ship,” he rumbled deeply. “Not because you have the experience to lead.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “This is not leading. This is bullying.”
Spinning around to find Murphy still standing there, she snatched the whip from his hand, before marching to the side of the ship and hurling the bloody strands to the ocean depths.
“Cut Woods down immediately and carry her to my quarters,” she addressed Murphy. “Then fetch the physician.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Murphy saluted her. Pulling his knife free, he went about cutting the bindings that held Woods secure. Tears sting Clarke’s eyes at the sight of her lacerated back, the red liquid oozing from her back. Still, a deep amazement bloomed in her chest at the fact that despite how badly she had been hurt, Alexandria Woods did not let out a single squeak.
“Are you not going to have her in your quarters dressed like that?” Bellamy asked, clear disapproval in his voice.
She scoffed, remembering Woods’ shirt they had ripped open in the back to carry out the flogging. “I doubt she would be able to stand wearing a shirt, at least until the doctor’s tended to her wounds.”
“I wasn't referring to her clothes, but yours.”
She looked at herself, just remembering that she'd come straight from bed, then back at her quartermaster. “I can't believe you did this.”
“I know how important finding the Commander is for you,” he met her unwaveringly. “I did this for you.”
“Gentlemen usually give flowers to a lady when they wish to earn her favour.”
“Flowers are bad luck aboard ship. They're omens of deaths to come,” he smiled sadly at her. “Perhaps when we return to shore.”
She shook her head when he missed her point entirely.
“Woods can't be broken.”
“Everyone can be broken.”
The ruthlessness in his words had her glaring at him. She couldn't associate the cruelty in his conviction with the with the fair man respected by her crew, or the brave, strong and determined man she thought shared her beliefs regarding justice.
“Why are you acting like I'm the villain here?” he demanded.
She hissed lowly. “Because it was brutal and I will not stand for it.”
“Yes, it was brutal, I don't deny it,” he acknowledged her statement, then turned to defend his action. “But brutality is all he understands. I didn't think you'd object.”
“Then why do it when I am asleep??” she countered.
“Because I didn't think you'd be able to stomach it either.” He gestured widely towards the crew. “I suspect most of the men have been flogged one time or another. It's part of life at sea.”
“Not aboard my ship, Mr. Blake. Do we have an understanding?” His jaw tightened, and instead of the objection she had expected, he brusquely nodded and saluted her. “Aye aye, Captain.”
“Thank you, Bellamy,” she awkwardly tried to break the tension between them. “I depend upon your wisdom, your knowledge, and your dedication to righteousness. You are an honourable man.”
He only silently faced the sea as she spoke.
She took a deep breath. “Please don't lose that on our journey to recover what we lost.”
“Pirates are a plague upon the seas,” he asserted.
“I do not disagree with you,” she acquiesced. “But neither should we stoop to their level.”
He looked squarely at her. “Haven't we already, Clarke?”
“No,” she shook her head. “We have not.” She staunchly refused to acknowledge that she was closer to being a pirate than she would admit. Turning away from him, she quickly returned to her cabin.
Dr. Greene was already there examining Woods’ back when she reached her quarters. The pirate lay on her stomach, on her bunk. Clarke wondered as she watched her keeping her eyes if she was sleeping. She doubted the other woman could, though. Given the pain she must be in. Probably unconscious, then. Or just trying to hide what she's feeling.
“How badly hurt is she?” She asked the doctor.
The doctor carefully dabbed a cloth against the cuts, and again Woods’ strength caught her attention when she only flinched ever so slightly. Once the blood was cleaned up, he examined his patient quietly.
“Well, could have been worse,” he delivered his verdict.
Clarke exhaled the breathe she didn't know she was holding.
“Now I'm going to put some salve on your wounds. Bandage them up, alright?” Woods gave a tiny nod of assent. “I'm surprised by the condition of your back. It doesn't appear you've been flogged before."
“Pirates don't flog,” she forced the words out between clenched teeth.
“Truly?” Clarke asked.
Woods tried to flash her trademark half-smirk at her, only it came out as a grimace when she tried. “Hardly ever.”
She looked like she was going to elaborate. Instead, she slammed her eyes shut, hissing with a slight intake of breath as Dr. Greene continued his ministrations.
It was difficult for Clarke to remember that she was a pirate, when she saw the pain the pirate was in. Doubtlessly she deserved such treatment. The thought cycled in her head, and she found it hard to blame Bellamy for his action. She herself had toyed with the notion of taking a lash to Woods’ back. After all, if Woods had agreed to help her, she would have been spared. So how could she remain self-righteously angry at her quartermaster for actually carrying through on something she'd considered? Deep down, though, she knew when the push comes to shove, she would never give the order to carry out the punishment.
Clarke clenched her teeth when unwanted memories flashed before her sight.
Her world had been turned upside down the day the pirates had attacked. Her naive view of the world shattered.
She despised them. Despised them all.
Despised Alexandria Woods the most.
Because even now, even as her dream from last night played in her mind, she longed to be kissed by her once again.
...
Clarke Griffin had very nice ankles.
If she was a gentlewoman, Alexandria wouldn't look. Then again she had never claimed to be one either, hadn't she? In fact, she revelled in her admission of being exactly what she was: a rogue, and a scoundrel. She was a pirate and she took pride in herself.
Any pirate worth his salt would steal a peek at Miss Griffin’s ankles. So she did.
After the doctor left, she'd move a screen into place and gone behind it to change her clothes. She had came over to inspect her, and probably decided that she was either asleep or unconscious. As if. Her back felt as if fiery flames licked at it, sleep had never felt so far away as it was right now. Clarke seemed reassured in her view, though. Otherwise she doubted the captain would do something so daring in front of the pirate who had kissed her so boldly before.
Laying on her stomach, she watched through the open bottom of the screen at Clarke’s feet, ankles, and a bit of her calves as she dressed herself. One slender feet raised, the other one on the ground as she went about her business. Alexandria smiled to herself. When she raised her hands above the screen, wiggling herself into her dress, she supposed, she wiped the smile off her face and closed her eyes, pretending to be fast asleep.
To her surprise, even without seeing her, she was acutely attuned to her presence, painfully aware of the captain coming up to the bunk to take a look at her. Sensing her moving away, she discreetly peered through her eyelashes at the woman sitting in a a chair, slipping on her stockings and boots. She knew she still appeared to be unconscious, if Clarke’s nonchalance when she turned slightly to look at her was any indication.
Alexandria wondered what she saw when she looked at her.
What could she be thinking about when it came to her?
She scoffed inwardly. No matter what Clarke might make of her, she was smart enough to know there was no way in the blazes she would think the slightest bit favourable of her.
The knock on the door again drew her attention to Clarke, who smoothed her skirt as though needing time to gather herself. Or maybe she just wanted to appear well put together regardless of the location.
“Enter.”
The door opened and a sailor walked in with a tray.“Yer breakfast, Cap’n.”
Alexandria groaned to herself, ‘Of course they'd send Echo, my bloody luck.'
Forcing herself to rise, she snarled at Echo. “Bloody hell! What are you doing here?!”Pain flared in her back from her sudden movements.
Echo’s eyes widened at the sight of her, taking a step back, the tray in her hands dropped to the floor.
Clarke spun towards her, her face flushed in wrath. “How long have you been awake??!”
Alexandria blinked several times, clenching her teeth to fight against the fiery pain on her back, swinging her legs off the bunk. “Long enough.”
The pesky quartermaster of hers came crashing through the door, sword in hand. She would have retch at all the knightly acts he'd been displaying. Sickening. Her mind absently wondered if he had kissed Clarke.
Did she kiss him back?
Had she willingly given him the privilege Alexandria had been reduced to steal from her?
“What's amiss here?” His voice boomed with authority.
Clarke rubbed her temple, clearly exasperated. “It was nothing, Bellamy.”
Echo, apparently still stunned by her condition, frowned after a long moment. “I didn't know she would be out and about. Shouldn't she be in the brig?”
“As she should be. You!”Blake advanced forward, pointing his sword at her. “On your feet. Handsomely now!”
“No,” Clarke intervened. “She's still bleeding. I want her to stay here for the day. Less chance for infection.”
She was almost hysterical at the captain’s word. What is someone like this doing playing at being a heartless privateer?
Blake seemed to not share that feeling though, “And more chance of her causing mischief.”
Clarke exhaled in frustration. “Hardly,”she nodded at Echo. “Clean this up and bring some more.”
“Aye Cap’n.” Echo quickly cleaned up what appeared to be porridge. She was spared having to clean any splinter since it had been in a wooden bowl.
Silence fell onto them as Echo worked. Alexandria knew the other pirate was likely still deeply concerned about her, while she guessed Clarke and Blake didn't quite trust her not to repeat what might be said in the captain’s quarters.
When she finally left, Blake turned said, “Clarke, you can't keep Woods here. The men will talk. Your reputation--”
“Went to the devil the day I decided to captain a ship."
She walked over to Alexandria. “Lie back down. I'm afraid you just undid the good doctor’s work.”
Slowly, she moved back onto the brig, obeying her order. Even the ginger movements agonised her, and she bit back her moan.
Warm fingers touched her shoulder, the gentleness inducing a strange twist in her stomach. “I think you'll be alright,” Clarke’s voice came from above her.
“You and I have different meaning of the word alright,” she grumbled, trying to ignore the sudden feeling of being home that dawned in her chest.
“I simply meant that I don't think I need to send for the doctor again.”
“Mr. Blake,” she strode to her desk, sitting in a large leather chair behind it.
“Aye, Captain.”
Dipping her quill into the ink pot, she opened the journal and began to write. “Since Miss Woods has declined to help us, see to it that we will reach the Bahamas without delay.”
“You shouldn't be alone with the likes of her.”
“I have two pistols, a sword, and two knives. And I've honestly lost all patience and would welcome an excuse to use one or all on her. So see to your duties and I shall see to mine.”
“Aye, Captain. But I'll leave the door open,” Alexandria could almost feel the bite of the cat in his words as he stormed from the room.
“Right jolly fellow, ain't he?” She cracked a grin when the Clarke turned to look at her.
“He has little patience with pirates, Miss Woods. As do I. I suggest you rest and gather your strength. You'll need it to fight off the rats in the brig.”
Alexandria watched the woman trying valiantly to be tough. But this was also the woman who had left her the lantern, stopped Blake from whipping her, and she'd seen the tears in her eyes when the doctor had tended to her back.
“Why do you want the Commander?”she asked, genuinely curious.
“He stole from me. It's the same reason I wanted you.”
“You made it very personal.”
Her quill stopped at the statement. “It is personal.” Her voice was so quiet, Alexandria almost missed it.
“How so?”
“The treasure belonged to the King. My father was responsible for it. Now he sits in prison at New Providence, under suspicion of piracy or cowardice -- Jaha has not yet determined which--because my father survived,” her voice wavered towards the end of her sentence.
Out of consideration for her kindness, Alexandria opted to not mention her brief falter.
"And now you risk your life to save his? Is that wise?”
Clarke straightened up at the question, all traces of her moment of weakness gone as she glared at Alexandria."He knows nothing of what I'm doing, and I'll not have you call it into question. It's enough for you to know I want the treasure.” She shifted her focus back on the journal in front of her, set on ignoring Alexandria.
“What were you doing on the Arkadia?” Her next question came, after it had been nagging her since she caught the noble lady hiding, terrified, in the hold.
Clarke’s hand stlled again, her quill poised above the paper.
“Do you know the island Mourning?”
Alexandria tossed her head. “Aye. It doesn't even have a decent port.”
“At the behest of the King, my father was to serve as the royal governor of Mourning,”she gripped the quill. “The treasure was to be used to build a settlement on the island.”
“So you think returning the treasure will--?”
“Will give the governor no reason to hold him,” she turned a hard look onto her. “As well as for the sake of justice itself. Not that I think you are able to comprehend the concept.”
She looked back defiantly into the accusing blue gaze. “I resent that. I'll have you know we pirates are a fair bunch.”
“Pirates do not have the right to steal.”
“I assume you want to put an end to pirating,then?”
“I do. I never want anyone else to experience the terror I did that morning when the Polaris attacked us.”
“I didn't harm you,” she defended herself, refusing to let her words make her feel guilty.
“You threatened me, Miss Woods. You stole my ring.”
She hid her surprise that Clarke had not taken it back when she had the chance and shrugged, wincing from the pain the slight pull on her wounds the movement made. “I was merely carrying out the tradition that began when men first began to travel the seas.”
The blonde scowled. “Thievery?”
“There have always been pirates, milady,” she flashed her trademark smirk at Clarke.
“And there have always been those willing to challenge them,” she replied hotly, her fair skin flushed in what Alexandria could only assume was irritation.
Clarke was so easily angered. So righteous. She couldn't deny that she enjoyed pricking her temper.
A knock sounded on the door, breaking their silent battle. “Enter.”
Alexandria decided there and then that she absolutely loathed it when Clarke’s attention wasn't only for her. She had expected Echo to return with her porridge. Instead, it was the bloke who'd wielded the lash.
“Cap’n, Mr. Blake sent me to fetch you. There's something he needs you to see.”
She rose, chair scraping noisily against the floor. “Thank you, Mr. Murphy.”
Alexandria raised an eyebrow. She was going to be left alone?
Clarke paused on her way to the door. “Mr. Murphy, please escort Miss Woods back to the brig.”
Right. As if.
“Aye aye, Cap’n.”
Murphy walked into the room. He wasn't exactly packing a huge bulk, as far as men go. But Alexandria could see two swords, the hilt of two knives, and three pistols strapped across his chest.
“Don't be giving me any trouble, pirate.”
Alexandria slowly, laboriously made her way out of the bunk.
“Wouldn't dream of it, mate.”
.....
It didn't take Echo long to appear in the brig, another bowl of porridge in her hands. Alexandria could see tears beginning to well in her eyes.
“Heda?”
She only groaned in reply. Her agent clambered down immediately. “Heda, please let me take a look at your back.”
Moving bit by bit, she sat with her back towards the other woman. Echo reached out and began unwrapping the bandage, stunned at her condition. Shaken, she dug out a bottle of ointment. “I have some of Nyko’s salve with me,” carefully, she slathered the medication over the welts. “I swear, that Bellamy Blake will pay.”
Alexandria was only half conscious at this point, the traditional salve prepared by the Polaris chief doctor soothing the burning pain.
“Yeah,” she slurred. “He will.”